What's in a name
by zipadeea
Summary: Katniss and Peeta have a very important decision to make.


He finds me on the porch, swinging lazily by myself. The breeze is nice, cooling everything off from the scorching afternoon. It's his favorite time of day, we both know it. I scoot to make room for him and he slips his arm around me as we watch the blazing orange slowly fade from the sky.

"Hello," he says softly, and I can't help but smile. I'm glad he's home.

"Hi, Peeta." He smiles back happily, placing his hand gently on my abdomen and softly tracing circles. The baby likes it, kicking madly in response to Peeta's attention, and his smiles widens.

"Well somebody missed you," I say with a laugh, and glance at Peeta's face. He looks thoughtfully out at the sunset, then back at my rotund front.

"Somebody," He hums, "we really should pick out a name, Katniss." I don't look at him for a bit. This is the one thing I've been avoiding, and we both know it. I'm terrified to be a mother, but also, unexpectedly, excited. I never knew I held so much love in my heart until I discovered the existence of our child. We've decorated the nursery, built the crib, picked out baby clothes; Johanna and Annie even threw me a baby shower. But I haven't chosen a name, even thought about it really. A name would make everything real and for so long this has felt like the very best of dreams.

"I know," I say quietly, looking out across the Victor's Village. Haymitch is out front, trying to herd in his geese. I think back to the day he found out, those seven months ago. It had been a rainy Saturday, and I went over to bring him some bread. He offered me a drink, and when I didn't accept, he'd scoffed and asked if Peeta had finally knocked me up. I said yes. It is, to date, the only time I've seen Haymitch cry. He later blamed it on the liquor, but I like to think otherwise.

"Well," Peeta begins, "let's go by gender. Unless you want one of those names that would work for both?" I grimace and he chuckles, "Good, I don't like those either. Let's start with boys!"

I nod, to humor him. What he doesn't know is that we are most definitely having a girl.

It's not some mother's intuition or lucky guessing. I asked the doctor for the sex of the baby, later on, after one of the appointments. Peeta never wanted to know, wants to be surprised, and after all we've been through I find it hard to deny him when what he wants is so simple. But I needed to know, needed to be mentally prepared. He jokes that the baby best be a boy, because he only had brothers and has no idea how to raise a girl. But I know my husband, and secretly he's pining for a baby girl. I have no doubt that Peeta would love any child of any gender, or even species, that comes out of my womb more than life itself, but I can't wait to give him this surprise.

We throw a few names back and forth, before agreeing on James. It's a good and strong name, old fashioned, but it rolls off the tongue nicely and goes well with Mellark. And who knows? Maybe if this time around goes well, a little boy could be on its way a few years from now.

"And on to girls," Peeta says, looking at the flowers growing along the side of our house. "We could name her Prim." I think about it for a bit, let the idea flow in my head. It's been years, and the loss of Prim still feels like a gnawing ache that will never leave. But I've learned to live with it. It's not as painful to talk about her, hear her name spoken aloud, and hear others' lovely memories of my sister.

"No," I finally say, "No, Peeta, our kids deserve their own names. No expectations to live up to, and no sad memories associated with a person they'll never get to meet." Peeta concedes, and we don't talk for a few minutes. I begin to softy sing Prim's lullaby.

_Deep in the Meadow,_

_Under the Willow-_

The baby starts kicking eagerly at that moment.

"Oh," I say softly, a look of wonder on my face, "that could work."

"What, Meadow? I mean, I'm not saying it's not pretty, but kind of a bad connotation when we live here, Kat-"

"No, Peeta. Willow. What do you think of Willow?" Peeta mulls it over in his head for a bit.

"It's beautiful. But willows weep." He says in confusion.

"Willows bend but don't break." The look of wonder crosses Peeta's face, too, as he understands the meaning. It's perfect. The perfect name for the child of two broken people who managed to put themselves back together. Our greatest wish for her, our greatest hope, all said in one word.

"Willow Mellark." Peeta says, his smile dazzling, "Now we need to have a girl just so we can use the name." I smile at him, but say nothing, and go back to watching the now dark sky as the stars begin to shine.


End file.
